


The "Body Guard"

by Rogueangelll



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American Revolution RPF
Genre: 2007, College, M/M, Marijuana, Porn With Plot, Recreational Drugs, Religious Guilt, Secret Relationship, early 2000s, early 2000s nostalgia, homophobic parent, sacrilegious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27757486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogueangelll/pseuds/Rogueangelll
Summary: It's 2007 ("Is that what time it is?") and John Laurens' father is tired of the college-aged boy getting up to no good and then leaving a press trail.  It just so happens that Henry Laurens has the opportunity to accommodate another student whom he pays to keep an eye on John every second of the day.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	The "Body Guard"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@veryvague on Wattpad](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40veryvague+on+Wattpad).



So, John Laurens was kind of a rebellious kid—in his father's eyes, at least. He had a track record of being caught sneaking out—and after a recent incident, Henry Laurens wanted to make sure his son (the senator's son) wouldn't be getting into any more trouble.

That meant no more sneaking out, no more weed, no more alcohol, no more parties, no more late night driving, and definitely no more sex. 

But Henry Laurens had trouble enforcing these rules. His son seemed to disregard cameras and locked doors. He would get into trouble in deceptive ways. For example, buying drugs on campus when his father couldn't monitor him or skipping classes to go God-knows-where instead.

It had become an issue.

Henry Laurens concluded that he needed somebody to watch his son—but not like a private eye. He didn't need to know what he was doing, he just needed somebody to watch him so he wouldn't do anything. A watched pot never boils, after all. 

However John Laurens was not pleased to be introduced to his new "body guard". His father'd said it was to protect him in case reporters bugged him (they occasionally did on campus if they knew he'd be there) or hecklers who disliked his father, the senator. John knew it was not to protect him, especially considering the little redhead was, well, little, in that he was no more than 5'7" and was much skinner than John himself, offering little more protection to him. It was to watch him, which really pissed him off, but he still greeted the "guard" politely.

"This is Alexander Hamilton. He's a student like yourself, and it just so happens his class schedule does not interfere with your time. He will be able to guard you almost 24/7, so you won't have to worry about being harassed," Henry Laurens said with a smile. So fake. Irritating.

"Dad, is this necessary?" returned his son with just as fake a smile.

Alexander released John's hand from the handshake, holding a bag over his shoulder.

"Yes, I think it is," said he. It was a warning. "Because Hamilton is attending the same college, he's going to stay with us at our home. He seems to be a smart young man, I believe you will get along." He nodded to Alexander.

Now, Alexander wasn't actually there on some secret mission to spy. He was able to be exchanged through a program from his home in St. Kitts, allowing him to move abroad to attend university in South Carolina. It was—unfortunately for him as a young man of no true devoted religious views—a Christian university, but a degree was a degree, and it didn't matter where he got it because he could move on to a better law school afterwards anyway. The acceptance rate was somewhat exclusive and his tuition was being paid for by the program. He was being given a place to live rent-free. It was perfect. And it just so happened to align with Henry Laurens' needs—that Hamilton should come into the equation when he did was perfect. So he offered him extra income to monitor his son.

Alexander, not actually caring and thinking it would be easy cash, said yes. And he'd arrived a month before his first semester. 

John was approaching his second year of the university. He wanted out.

• • •

That evening—after Alexander was shown to his small apartment off the side of the house complete with a kitchenette and small bathroom (God, were they wealthy!)—he ate dinner with the family: the senator Henry Laurens, the troublesome son John Laurens, and the siblings. Needless to say, it was quiet.

"Did you live in South Carolina before?" asked the younger brother, James Laurens. 

Alexander was relieved to have conversation, though he didn't like the subject. Whatever. He'd reveal only what was necessary.

"No, actually," said Alexander. He set down his knife and fork. "I lived in the Caribbean."

The younger sister, Mary Eleanor, said, "Like a pirate?"

The older sister, Martha, told her no—that the Caribbean was a place where normal people lived. Not pirates.

John chuckled a bit, though still annoyed at the idea of having a baby sitter who was just a freshman in college.

"Where in the Caribbean did you live?" Martha asked.

"St. Kitts and Nevis. Well, I've lived in St. Kitts for the past decade. Nevis before that."

Henry Laurens decided to ask his own questions. "So, that was a French colony, right? Many still speak French."

"Yes, but mostly English, although I speak French, myself."

"Mary Eleanor, do you hear that?" he said to his daughter. "You should practice your French with Alexander when possible. When you have the time to spare, of course," he said to him. "If French, I assume many people are Catholic as well."

Hamilton smiled awkwardly. "Yes."

"I assume you aren't."

"No, I'm not."

He laughed. "Yes, I would think it would be odd for a Catholic to attend a good protestant Christian university."

Hamilton didn't see the problem, they were pretty similar things anyway. Regardless, he was not catholic.

So he forced his own laugh. "Yes, it would be weird."

John was annoyed with these questions and how uncomfortable Alexander appeared, so he switched it to his own topic. "I want to sign up for that art class. It's during a block of time I don't have any other classes. Rounded credentials look nice in any field."

Alexander admired the succinct arguments John made. They were strong and yet minimal, said in a way that if Henry Laurens said no, he would look crazy. He couldn't say no.

"Sign up for it, then," he said, unsurprisingly. He seemed unhappy about it.

"John, will you ride around with me sometime so I can get hours in for my driver's permit? You're the only lame, not-busy adult I know," said Martha.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Jack, don't be so sloppy in your speech," scolded Henry Laurens.

John refrained from rolling his eyes. "Martha doesn't care. She's sloppier in her language than I am. She's literally a teenager.”

“Regardless of your audience—”

“Dad, it’s just casual conversation, there's no need to—"

Henry Laurens' eyes warned him to stop being mouthy, so John stopped being mouthy.

He noticed Alexander had finished all on his plate and felt bad that he sat there awkwardly, meanwhile the rest of the family was nowhere near finished their own dinner. The Laurens's ate slowly, minimally, and quietly. Alexander had eaten quickly and so John, done with this conversation and pitying how freaking awkward the guy looked, quickly ate what was left on his own plate.

"Jack, why are you bolting your food?"

John closed his eyes for a moment so he wouldn't say something lamentable. He ignored the comment, finished with the sweet corn and steak. "Hey, Alexander, you like Super Smash Bros.?"

Alexander didn't really know it, he'd never played. But he hated this dinner, and would gladly watch John play video games if it meant leaving. "Yeah, I do."

"May we be excused?" asked John of his father.

"...Yes, very well."

So John stood, took Alexander's plate as well, brought it away, and waved him to follow him upstairs to a game room. —Very impressive and a cool spot to chill, noted Hamilton. It also smelled faintly of marijuana and had cool lights and a lava lamp. 

And a mini fridge! And table football!

"This is so cool," he said firstly. Secondly, "Is your family always this...?"

John closed the door. "Yes. Isn't it the worst?"

Alexander laughed, much more genuine than at the dining table. "Well..." it was nice eating with a family. "Mr. Laurens is intense."

"Yeah, he's a hard-ass. Clearly. Hiring somebody to babysit me," he scoffed, walking behind the counter by the mini fridge. "Want a drink? I hope you're not lame."

Alexander cocked a brow. "You do understand I'm supposed to be ‘monitoring’ you.”

"Oh, I know. You aren't lame, are you?"

Alexander followed him and leaned against the other side of the hardwood island. "No, uh... I'm not lame. What do you have to drink?"

"You want a beer?"

Alexander almost said "I think that's exactly what I'm supposed to be guarding you from," because he really wanted to do his job right, but a decent drink sounded so fun right now and John seemed much cooler than his dad.

Well, obviously.

"Ah. You're a mixologist, then?" he responded.

"Nope, but I do have beer."

"And your father allows this?"

"My father doesn't know."

"Ah," said Alexander again. "I see. ...Import or domestic?"

"Import. That's why the republican senator can't know."

Alexander laughed out loud, even more genuine. John was funny. "Niiice. Import beer."

"Guess my father didn't screen you well enough," said John, taking a beer out of the back of the fridge. Over the label of the can was a cleaned, cut-open soda can, seemingly innocent as it acted as a sleeve. Nobody could even tell it was actually beer unless you took the sleeve off.

Alexander peaked at the label. "Well, he can't exactly screen my brain to see if I like beer. He should've got a nun to guard you if he's so worried." 

John laughed this time. "Right? So, you actually want to play Super Smash Bros?"

"It's been a while since I've played," he said, not having played since the first one came out in 1999, as one of the boys from his neighborhood got it for his birthday. He played a small bit for the day and never touched a game system since. He didn't have many friends.

"That's all right. It's easy." He went over and set up the game; when finished, he sat on the leather couch and handed a controller to Alexander.

Alexander set his Coke-disguised beer on the floor and pretended to know what he was doing as they got into the game.

Alexander's character died a lot, which was a little un-fun for John at first until his opponent got the hang of it. Soon, their competition felt more fair.

"How long is 'a while'? 'Cause you're kicking my ass," said John, no match for Alexander's Kirby.

"Not since 1999."

"Really?" he laughed.

"Uh, no, ha ha."

John cocked a brow, distracted from the game for a moment. 

"Why? Would that surprise you?" Alexander suddenly asked, which overturned his initial denial.

"A little. You're pretty good."

"Well... I pick things up quickly, I guess."

"So it has been that long."

"Eight years? Not that long. I played it when I was ten and it first came out, then I grew out of it. Video games aren't the most exciting thing in the world."

John doubted the credibility of his argument but didn't question it. "If you say so."

John sported a (very hot) southern dialect, as one from the south may. Alexander noticed it, but also noticed it was more diluted than his siblings and father. 

John set his controller aside and picked up his beer, leaning back into the couch. Alexander picked his up again as well.

"So, what're you majoring in?" Alexander asked.

John shrugged. 

"You don't know?"

"Nah, it's just boring."

"Come on. I'm majoring Poli-Sci. Can't get more boring than that."

John turned his head to him, a bored look in his blue eyes. "Business Administration and Management."

"Oh, wow. You sound thrilled."

"Well," he shrugged again, "no, not really."

"What is it, then? Your father's dream for you?"

John felt oddly called out. "I guess it is. But whatever. It's a respectable degree at a respectable school. It looks nice for both he and I, politically and in the business world. I'm starting with both feet already off the ground. I think I should be grateful. Others aren't as lucky, so as to get their lives just... set up for them. Perfect with the perfect American dream. Man." He looked away from Alexander. "I'm going to live the American dream. A respectable businessman, with a wife and kids, living a life of comfort..."

Alexander took another swig of beer.

• • •

Alexander spent quite a lot of time out of the house, preparing for college by touring campus personally or just leaving somewhere for hours so he wouldn't have to be in that house with the great senator Henry Laurens. He had to be watching John and all, so John was usually the one taking him around places (Alexander himself didn't have a license) and hanging out with him because they both could use a little bit of a more tolerable setting.

John made for good company. Alexander had just been lonely for so long. He hoped in coming to the US, in traveling, he would be not-so-lonely, but the feeling didn't just go away instantly. John made it better, though. It was at least a virtual sense of companionship. 

"So, how's the university treating you for your first year?" John asked as they played games at the arcade in the middle of a Tuesday in October. Actual children were at school. It was mostly deserted. The arcade games' music and noises filled what very well could have been awkward silence. 

"How's it treating me?" Alexander tossed a ball underhand to the milk jug, missing. He paused. "Fine. It's not too bad."

"And the other students? God, especially freshmen: the baby Christians going only because it's a Christian school and Jesus is all they've ever known. Fresh from the Christian homeschool household."

"Then why do you go, if you hate it so much?"

John didn't answer for a moment. He looked down, then took the ball from Alexander's hands to toss it into the milk jug, scoring 300 points. He realized Alexander was still awaiting an answer. "I'm just in a bad mood. I don't actually."

"What put you in a bad mood? Nice shot."

"I just... can't stand the constant, 'bible, bible, bible,' 'Jesus, jesus, Jesus,' like seriously, my fucking God... I get it. We get it already. He's the almighty. It's the way, it's the truth and the light, whatever. We all know the same shit so why even discuss it? There aren't any different opinions. Everyone just agrees, or if they don't they don't say it."

"I hate that, too," said Alexander. "I think it's obnoxious."

John grabbed another ball and tossed it. "I know— Oh!" he high-fived Alexander, having landed the ball in the 10,000 points jug, "—I know you're exchanged through that program and you're from St. Kitts. A lot of people are Catholic there? So you're used to the carping, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Except—" he stopped short suddenly, smiling and changing his sentence as smoothly as possible, "Yes. People had lots of opinions, and honestly they weren't far from the same opinions on campus."

"Except what?"

There was near to nobody in the arcade, and John seemed pretty fed up with his own issues with religion... so... "Well, just except that I never really went to church, at least not from what I can remember."

"So you aren't religious, or you just aren't catholic?"

"I just—" he hoped John wouldn't spill this secret, since he kind of needed to pretend to be Christian to attend the Christian school for free, "okay, don't judge me. I'm not religious. And between you and me, if I was, it'd probably be Jewish anyway. I had a Jewish tutor for years, and my mother was, and I think Judaism makes more sense if one of them has to make sense - but I am not religious."

"Ooooh boy, do not tell my father that."

"Well, I should add not ethnically-speaking, but my mom used to be married to a guy who was, so she converted when they got married. That guy wasn't my father, though, so again, not ethnically. My dad is Scottish. I'm basically royalty."

"Royalty?"

"I can show you my family tree, I traced it back and I descend directly from royalty from back in the eighteenth century."

"Well... still, I wouldn't say anything about that other stuff to anybody."

"Yeah. Figured."

"Seriously. Can you imagine?" he said, "If somebody in the stupid political ring discovered the exchange student he was hosting was just pretending to be a Christian. Hilarious."

"Well, not for your father."

"And neither for you! You'd be crucified."

"Ironically. I mean, so ironically, it's painful."

John laughed. "Yeah."

Some time went by before John grew bored of the silence.

"I don't like the university," said he, solemnly.

It didn't surprise Alexander, who was gathering his tickets and moving on to play ski ball. "I don't blame you. Why not?"

"Like I said, it's the carping." It wasn't just the carping, but he wasn't really sure he wanted to talk about it. "And the... I just think the people are annoying. And the professors can be sometimes rude."

"Rude, how?"

"Well, I have this professor for a class I'm taking on Family Studies. Like it's some sort of youth ministry, family, and culture thing. He just is sometimes rude."

"Okay, rude how?" he pressed.

"You know. How it's just like..." he again trailed off. "Judgmental."

Alexander nodded, not quite understanding but maybe getting it enough. So he didn't continue asking.

• • •

Alexander was enjoying his time thus far. He was making some good money monitoring John, who wasn't half as bad as he'd imagined he would be. After all, one must assume that a grown boy would have to have done something awful to be on strict surveillance—but Alexander couldn't figure out what was so terrible about him. Maybe it was his drinking... but most fathers wouldn't hire a full-time babysitter for that. Maybe rehab, which a wealthy man could certainly afford, but a freakin' babysitter was taking it too far for an issue like that.

But a watched pot never boils. John wouldn't behave horribly in front of him, if he was explicitly hired to watch him. 

He sighed, sitting at his desk. He took some cash out of the ATM earlier (quite a bit of it). He clipped it and placed it inside an envelope with the letter he'd written and a copy of his report card. He sealed it, slapped a stamp on it, then set it aside to mail later.

After realizing he'd been grinding his teeth, Alexander relaxed his jaw and picked up some homework. 

• • •

John was being kind of a doofus and after he'd sprained his ankle jumping out of a tree, drunk, trying to impress Alexander, Alexander had had enough. He was sick of watching John get hurt just because he was being stupid.

But John only continued to be stupid. He was hitting a freaking bong after Alexander had been gone just 15 minutes to shower. He scolded John, much to his surprise.

"You don't wanna hit it, Cheech?"

Alexander shook his head. "Look, you really need to chill. Can you do something besides drugs for one night?"

"It's weed, man."

"Put it out. Or away, or whatever."

John stood up, bracing himself on the couch on account of his ankle. He could stand on it, but it did ache mildly. "You're not serious."

"John, I am. I'm supposed to be watching you, not enabling you."

"Seriously, you're gonna listen to my dad?"

"Sit down. You shouldn't just walk on your ankle like that."

"Stop telling me what to do, Alex. And you can fuck off with the bodyguard shit."

"What do you think this is?" he said. "Do you think I get fucked on import beer every night because it's fun? I'm literally being paid to watch you. Stop being weird and just do something normal for one night, instead of wasting your life away being a bum!"

John shoved him. He stepped forward in spite of the stinging pain of his ankle, shoved him again, and pushed him against the wall when he tried to push him back. "Shut up."

"I didn't mean it like—"

"Then how did you mean it?"

"I just mean that you're unhealthy! You seriously need to quit it."

John almost wanted to punch him, fist clenched, but he didn't. "You can't control me. Fuck off."

"Then do you want me to tell your dad about what you've been up to?"

"Fuck off!" he shouted, shoving him back harder and pressing him there against the wall.

"I'm not here to be your pal—" he read the upset all over John's countenance but he didn't know how else to get this behavior to end.

John made a fist, tightening by his side as if readying to punch, but restrained himself. "What's your problem? Why are you being all rude and shit for no reason? I thought we could be friends!"

Alexander's shoulders slumped. "I just want you to stop getting drunk and high all the time!"

"Why does it matter?"

"It isn't good for you."

He pushed him away, against the wall again, and crossed his arms. "I don't really care."

"Look at yourself! You're always getting hurt and drowning your pain with drugs."

"What a coincidence. Guess I've just had bad luck since you showed up."

"Oh, come off it."

"If you're being mean to me, I'll be mean back."

"I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just trying to help you. Do you want me to go to your dad or do I just somehow stop you myself? I don't have a lot of options and you aren't cooperating!"

"Don't go to my father, you can't understand what he's like, what it's like living here your whole life! And now you're going to just ruin what I have going here—my lifeline to survive this BS. Come on, Alexander. Think about what you're doing, here."

"It's not that bad."

"You haven't even seen the worst of it, how can you say that? I grew up here!"

"Then what is it? You live in a mansion in the United States, where you have opportunity and not just that but a father who's paying you through everything you need. Do you know what I would give? So why do you have to be so numb? What pain are you trying to hide?"

"It's none of your business!" he bit. "I'm just trying to ask you as a friend, don't go snitch on me. Come on. If you'll stomach being friends with me for a second longer, that is."

"I just can't watch this train wreck, and if it takes upsetting you or not being friends with you—"

John sighed loudly. "Please. Please, don't. It's not easy. My dad's just goin' to make it worse."

They were in silence for quite some time. Alexander, however, finally sighed and shook his head. "Just promise me you'll dial it down a notch."

• • •

Henry Laurens was off for prolonged visit to Washington, D.C., this time for several weeks instead of his usual few-day trips. Work brought him away frequently. Henry Laurens blamed work for his failures in parenting his eldest before he blamed himself—but he still blamed himself.

Mary Eleanor hugged her father goodbye and stuffed a tiny folded letter she wrote for him into the pocket of his suit jacket. She had to stand on her knees in a chair to do this. He reminded himself to read it in the taxi.

He spoke privately to Alexander, reminding him of the rules he wished for John to follow and to call his secretary's number should anything terrible go wrong. There was also a nanny to stay during his absence to watch the younger siblings, and for Alexander to reach out to if needed. She was a quiet woman who minded her own and kept a keen eye on Mary Eleanor above all the other siblings, worried she was the most likely to get hurt some way, adventurous as she was.

John was relieved to have his father gone. He decided to smoke a joint instead of doing his paper, which was due the next day.

Alexander walked into the game room and made sure to close the door quickly, not expecting but not shocked to see John smoking. He hoped the nanny wasn't familiar with the smell—it seemed at least Henry Laurens was oblivious. 

"Man. Don't you have that essay due?"

John slouched in the stool, leaned by the window with his marijuana cigarette outside. "I do."

"You can't write it if you're high."

He shrugged.

"Do you want to flunk, John?"

He shrugged again, grinning this time. 

Alexander sighed. "What's it on again? I can write it for you."

John shook his head, waving him closer. "Not necessary. If I fail, I fail."

"And then I fail babysitting you."

"Hey. Life is stupid anyway. Here," he held the joint out. "It's real good."

It was already halfway gone. Alexander made the rash decision to take it and hit it, not able to enjoy himself lately and needing a de-stressor. This was fine. 

"I think I'm going to flunk out on purpose," said John, still grinning, covering his mouth. 

Alexander breathed out his second hit. "Why, John? Bad."

"I can't take it anymore."

He looked at him sadly. John took the joint, hit it again, then popped it between Alexander's lips ungraciously. 

"How has it not killed you, yet?" he whispered. "It's so bad. The school. But I can't muster the courage to tell that to my father."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I can't. I'll flunk instead. Go somewhere else when he realizes I'm incompetent."

"Where else would you go? That doesn't even make sense."

John laughed. "Oh! The army. I'll go... fight..."

"Where you could die?"

John laughed harder.

"Man, don't go into the military. Don't. Just finish school... then get the hell outta here. Or tell your father. That you want to go somewhere else. Secular college... but a respectable one, still."

"I don't want to major in fucking business anymore. I hate it."

Alexander worried for John's composition. Being high, he couldn't tell if the man was hysterically sad or just feeling funny.

"Don't major in business, then," he said.

John shook his head. His movements were slow but somewhat twitchy. Alexander could see visually just how high he was already, and even greater, felt it himself. John said, "Woah. Hey. You know you have this... accent."

"I have an accent?"

"Yes! I hear it more when you're tired or incapacitated. I like it a lot."

"How would you know? Do you know other Caribbeans? It's not like I sound Jamaican or something."

"Well, yeah. This girl once I knew, her family was from St. Kitts. And you're from the Caribbean. West Indies. Everything is west of the Indies by that logic."

"Enlightening, John. You should major in geography."

"That's a major?"

"I think so." Alexander laughed. "You have a southern accent, on the other hand."

John laughed very hard. "Not as much as I used to!"

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I spent some time in Europe, spend a lot of time around people who don't speak like that. Maybe I speak too many languages to sound Southern."

Alexander could've died then. "I don't know if that's how that works!" He covered his mouth to stop laughing so much, putting out the remaining end of the joint. He looked John up and down. "Maybe you should go into college as a football player or something. Voters love a good athlete with a supportive politician father."

"Oh, my God. Alex. I have to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"When I was little... when I was a kid." He cleared his throat, leaning forward. "Man. I was obese."

"No!"

"Yes. I was overweight. Even the doctor said. I was twelve. So I exercised a lot. I stopped eating."

"Oh, no... That's not good. But you look good now. Very healthy. Healthy is the most important."

"I try."

Alexander smiled.

He watched John for a long moment, who was staring at his hands in his lap. He looked like he had more to say—but whatever it was, he didn't say it.

"I get sick a lot," said Alexander, trying to keep the conversation going, hoping John might talk more of himself. "I didn't eat as much as I should've when I was a kid. And I hate the cold. I get sick when it's cold. I spent a week in New Jersey about a year back for an apprenticeship. It was winter. I got sick by the third day, and didn't recover until I was back home."

"At least it's warm here."

He nodded. "At least." He stood so he could go sit on the couch instead. "Why... is your dad so..."

John had been anticipating this question for a while.

"What'd you do?"

John still didn't look up from his hands.

"Nothing. Just didn't like the pot and the drinking. And I'd drive... just on backroads, but you know, buzzed. He's so dramatic sometimes—I was never drunk. Probably under the legal limit."

"Really?"

John shrugged for the hundredth time. "Yes."

Alexander didn't believe him. "Okay."

"I think I'm kind of broken. Inside. I think..." He stopped talking for a good minute or so. He stood and sat beside Alexander on the couch, tilted his head back as the silence lingered.

"Why?" asked Alexander.

"'Why' what?"

He turned his head to him. "Why are you broken?"

John laughed distantly, not answering. The moment passed and Alexander dropped it.

"Your dad's gone... we should go out. To a party."

"Christian kids don't party."

Alexander grinned. "I know. There are other parties."

"Where?"

"You don't know people?"

"None I can trust... none I like."

"Then let's not go to a party," he said. "Let's walk around. Get ice-cream. You know, the works."

John smiled. "Okay, body guard," he said, getting up. "Grab a sweatshirt." 

So Alexander got up as well, grabbed his wallet and shoes from his bedroom, then met John in the atrium. John pulled on his sneakers and they headed out without saying goodbye.

"I've got a couple more joints on me," said John with a grin. Alexander zipped his sweatshirt up. "If we find a place to stop."

"Nice. I'm hungry. Oh, my god, let's get ice-cream."

"Didn't you say that?" John asked, head turned sideways at Alexander as they walked. He couldn't cease to grin.

"I perhaps did."

"'I perhaps did,'" John mocked, all in good spirit as he bumped into Alexander. 

"God, I love your accent. Southern people used to disgust me but I love your accent." 

John laughed bashfully. "Okay."

"You're such a stereotype, John. Blond, baby-blue eyes... stocky and athletic and such. Southern. Rich, Republican senator father."

"Should I say thank you to that?"

"No, not yet. Wait. —Despite being a stereotype, you are so... you."

"Okay, now thank you?"

"Yes. You may say your thanks, now."

"Thanks." John's shoulders were shaking from his laughter. They'd walked so far from the beautiful brick estate, now, that it was much darker. The moonlight illuminated their path, but not for long as they'd walk along the wooded dirt road to get into town.

"So, Mr. Artist—I never have seen your art. I know you take that class, though, so you must have something."

"I owe you nothing."

"What! I keep you out of trouble, Mister."

John shook his head. "Seems you get into trouble with me."

"Thus preventing you from further trouble."

"I'm so confused."

Alexander laughed. "Confused? Don't be. This is the new millennium. There is no confusion here."

"There's plenty. I feel pretty confused... a lot... about everything. Why things happen. What to do about them." He'd stopped walking. Alexander heard the cease of footsteps, though he saw only the vague outline of John in the pitch black woods. Little moonlight shine through God's perforations of the branches. It presented itself in dim rays, far dimmer than if it was sunlight.

Alexander didn't ask, hoping John might continue.

"It's just confusing," he reiterated. "What the fuck."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. The woods hummed with the gentle noises of animals. It was so nice. "It's confusing."

"It doesn't make sense. Why... do good... why is... I just hate myself," he whispered. 

"Hey..."

"What? I do. I hate feeling this way. It's like... it hurts... all the time. I hate feeling like I'm—you know, it's just..." He sighed. "Jesus Christ."

Alexander put a hand out to touch John on his upper arm, drawing closer in the darkness and trying to comfort him by rubbing it. 

He didn't know how else to comfort people, besides physically. 

He figured nothing he could say would help, as none of it was relevant. He didn't understand what John felt.

John stared at his shadowy figure for a moment. He took a step back from the advance to take out a joint.

"It's as good a place as any to light another one up," he said meekly. 

Alexander crossed his arm away, feeling somewhat rejected. "Cool. Hand me it."

After lighting it and taking a hit, John passed it to him. 

"You okay, John?"

John sighed. "I don't... know."

"Well. That's okay. You don't have to be."

John didn't know what to say to that.

"I hope you feel better, though." Alexander handed the joint back. "If there's anything I can do... let me know."

John just laughed. He reached out and gently patted Alexander's cheek, popping him almost like a dog—but not scoldingly. He just felt like it.

Alexander suddenly wanted to lean into his touch. He froze.

John pulled his hand away, still smiling though Alexander couldn't see well. He could tell his cheeks were upturned from the light of the joint, however.

"I mean it." 

"Man. What do you want from me? I don't know what to say to that. I'm just... too high for this."

"For what?"

"For this," he insisted. "I can't talk about all this."

"Some other time, then? I'll listen better sober, too..."

"I don't want to talk about any of it, ever."

Alexander sighed. "But you can talk to me. I have nobody to tell, anyhow. And I care about what you say. I want to know you."

"Why?"

"You interest me."

John took a step around him to continue walking. "Yeah."

"What? Don't you believe me?" He pivoted with haste to follow, otherwise being left behind.

"I just don't think you'd be all that interested. After all, my father hired you to watch me." He felt defensive, suddenly, face hot and pounding with blood, head rush—high. Too high. "Who's to say he didn't hire you to spill my personal secrets, too?"

"John. I wouldn't do that for any amount of money. And I don't think your father would, either."

"Hey, you don't know my father. You don't know what kinda things he would or wouldn't do. Paying someone to snoop into my life? Definitely on that list."

Alexander felt frustrated, suddenly. Though marijuana chilled him out, he was feeling a bit more angry. "But not me. I wouldn't. I know I wouldn't. You can't just be mad at me 'cause I'm interested in your life, you know. It's not some trick—"

"But I don't know it's not."

"But you don't know it is. And I say it's not. Don't you know me well enough to believe me?"

John didn't stop walking fast. "I don't know. I'm not mad at you and I don't think you'd do that, I just— it's too much."

Alexander grabbed him by the arm, prompting him to stop walking. "Hey."

"What?"

He put both hands on John's shoulders, on the brink of just shaking him. "Dude..." He was suddenly really tired, and not angry, almost laughing. "John. You know me, don't you?"

John didn't understand what was really going on. He was too high to retain what he was hearing after the moment had passed. "What?"

"You know me."

"I know you."

"Yeah?"

"I think so. Maybe. You are Alexander, aren't you?"

Alexander laughed, fingers pressing into John's shoulders. "My. You are funny."

"You're only saying that."

He stepped closer. "No! You make me laugh," he chuckled. "I've never had a close friend before. Like a decent one."

"I'm your friend?"

Alexander shrugged. "Hoped so."

"Okay. That makes sense. We're pretty good friends. Hard not to be, being together all the time. ...But you're paid to and I have no say in it."

"But I have fun doing it. Don't you? Aren't you kinda glad you have such a fun guy as a babysitter?"

John was cracking up. He was so confused about what was happening. He didn't really know how close Alexander was. It felt natural somehow. He didn't know why his back was against a tree or why he had lost the joint between his lips. He was sure Alexander had taken it... and they were talking, about something... 

"It's so dark," John said suddenly, oblivious that he was interrupting Alexander's monologue. 

Alexander stopped talking of how glad he was to be friends with John and took a look around. His hands were still on John's shoulders. "Yes. It is."

"I know. It's so dark."

Alexander chuckled. "You just said that." He leaned forward, rather close.

John noticed their chests touching and Alexander's hot breath on his neck, close... so close... He put his hand on Alexander's chest. "What're you doing?"

The shorter boy didn't advance further, though he didn't back off, either. He worried he'd crossed a line... a line he was hardly aware he even was crossing, having been stoned... and craving closeness... he just assumed John may be, too.

"What?" whispered Alexander. He leaned his weight on John.

"You..." John held his breath. Alexander was so close.

He leaned his head forward a little, teasing this idea in the dark with his subconscious. He couldn't tell where Alexander's lips were so he leaned his head back and stopped trying. He allowed it to rest against the tree.

Alexander began to take his hands away, feeling it was a rejected idea—but John put his arms around his waist to encourage it. He hugged him. Alexander soon fell victim to the hug and in turn squeezed John with his arms around his neck. He closed his eyes. 

He felt so safe. He didn't even know what he was doing, God, he was so tired... but... 

John hugged him tighter. He loved the smell of his hair. He'd never felt this! He never had just hugged a boy, delighted in him for delight's sake. 

He was a grown man and he'd never felt this kind of delight.

The closest thing to this was with his friend Martha, whom he'd slept with once—but it didn't feel the same. He knew he wasn't all that attracted to her, though he admired her as a friend. He was uninterested. And he'd also been close with Francis... but he didn't hug him, so much. It was very cold between them, save for when Francis got an itch to touch... but it wasn't love if he only felt it when they were touching.

Something about hugging Alexander was so different. It was so nice. 

It was just the two of them in the dark.

Alexander was unaware how long he'd been leaned into John's body when he heard John mumble some nonsense about the joint. "I put it out," Alexander whispered.

John squeezed him even tighter. "Okay."

"You can tell me anything," Alexander said. "I really do want to hear about you."

John nodded against his head. "We should keep walking."

Alexander was sad that the moment was passing, but John seemed all right. He himself didn't know how to feel. He felt like he was falling.

He began to laugh as they pulled away—perhaps from awkwardness or because of how funny he felt, falling in the dark without really moving at all—but he couldn't stop. John put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, almost tempted to move into the hug again but he resisted the urge and began to move on, hoping he was going in the right direction after being all mixed up and pushed against a tree.

Alexander seemed to think it was the right direction, at least, so they headed.

John wanted to hold Alexander again. It was all he could think about as they walked. He wasn't paying attention to the road at all—and in fact, he so hoped to be hit by a car, if it meant the end of his suffering. He'd love to end these feelings.

But something felt right. He didn't feel nearly as bad as he should have. He felt almost ready to be liberated. Alexander had to be liberatis a peccato. He was so perfect. God couldn't hate him. After all, He'd created that angel Alexander Hamilton with His own two hands, hadn't He? Was Alexander not a gift from God Himself?

For the millionth time he cracked up randomly, bumping his shoulder into Alexander as they walked.

"What?" giggled Alexander. He covered his mouth. "Man. What?"

"I don't know!" That made him laugh harder. He wiped at his eyes, as his laughter brought him to tears and he almost had to stop. However, he rather picked up his pace and Alexander followed. It felt like they were racing, laughing and all, until the trees began to thin and they were on a main road, off of the private drive.

"We go right from here," said John. He snickered. "Oh. Oh. Hey. Did you put that herb away?"

A car drove past—it was a main road, after all.

"Yeah," said Alexander.

John instructed him to hand it over.

"Why?"

"If we get caught... I can handle charges. You gotta go somewhere with your life."

Alexander's shoulders fell. "Hey. Man."

"You know... my father could get me outta trouble in a jiffy," he said, still giggling. "I'll be good. Hand it over. Come on."

Alexander shook his head. "Nah. If we get caught, I'm goin' down with this ship one way or another."

"Don't jeopardize your future for me," he said seriously.

"I couldn't—"

"Give it to me."

"John, come on."

"Give it to me."

Alexander sighed, rolling his eyes and fishing the joint from his pocket. He handed it to him. "They look like regular cigarettes."

"You look like regular cigarettes."

Alexander snorted. "You are so dumb, John Laurens. So freaking stupidly smart. And all that."

"Yeah. I'm pretty dumb."

"But not actually. I can tell you've got a head on you, buddy." He was grinning up at him stupidly, and John looked to him bashfully as he could now see his pink cheeks under the street lights. Alexander went on, "You've got a good shot in this world, John Laurens. Don't waste it."

"Nah. I'm not goin' anywhere..."

"And why not? You've got all these... these resources. All this time. You've got... a father who loves you," he whispered, shrugging. "I mean, money, political fame, and you can really go to any college you want, if you just told your father—"

"Alex. You don't know him."

Alexander shrugged. "Yeah, okay, I don't. But I can just see... he loves you."

"How do you even know what love is?" said he. "How do any of us know? Aren't we just... stupid... animals... walking around on two legs and thinking we actually feel complex emotions like 'love,' I mean, shit, what even is it? What is love?"

"I guess I don't know," said Alexander. "My father never showed me any love."

John realized he'd never talked of Alexander's father—or mother. They didn't talk of those things, usually. "But why not?" He didn't know what else to ask. How could Alexander's father not love him? He was like, super amazingly amazing.

"I don't know. Guess he didn't have 'nough interest in me."

"What makes you say that?"

"God, I don't know, John. Just... he left me and my mom when I was real' young. And then years later I had to go live with him, and he just didn't seem to care, sometimes. Like he was scared of me. Like he didn't know me. Like I was this weird random kid livin' in his house, but I was his son... and it's like..." he shrugged it away, worried his voice may break. 

"Why'd he act like that? You're so cool."

"I was a weird kid, maybe. Freak of nature. I used to write him letters, maybe that's why he was freaked out, 'cause he had this expectation of himself to be a good father, and he'd hardly been a real father, so he didn't know how and instead distanced himself. That's what I tell myself, anyway. That's all I hope it is. I hope to God it's not me. I don't want to be the reason, that'd just hurt too much. But I still can't stop worrying that may be the reason. 'Cause what if it is? I'll never know. He'll never tell me. And just so long as he sends back a few letters here or there, I'll just keep trying, keep sending him letters and money and my grades, keep on hoping he'll be proud, even if it's hurting me..." he tried to force a sort of scoffing laugh. "God, John Laurens. Damn you for making me... speak. About this..."

"I'm so sorry," said John. He could understand. He knew what it was like to feel like he was the problem, the reason to be hated. Especially by his father. 

"Say something about you. Make me feel better," he whispered.

John could almost simper. "Nah... no... I'm all right."

"Come on, take my blues away! Make me feel better," he repeated.

"Alexander... come on. I'll make you feel better by listenin'... walking with you... I'll even give you a kiss on the forehead if it makes you feel better. But I ain't talking about my feelings."

"Oh, you 'ain't,' huh?"

John stopped walking. "What do you want from me?"

Alexander looked between the two of them, then decidedly stepped closer. There weren't any cars around at this particular moment. "That kiss on the forehead."

John scoffed. He grabbed both sides of Alexander's face and pecked his forehead, about to pull away, but Alexander lifted his head and stood on his toes to take advantage of John's lips and peck him, hoping no cars would suddenly decide to drive by and see them. He didn't feel like being murdered tonight in South Carolina.

John, at first, was anything and everything but shocked. He pressed close and kissed him back for a moment, remembering with a start where they were and pulling away. He stared at Alexander, breathless. 

Neither spoke.

A couple of cars passed by, fast. They were lucky they'd pulled away when they had.

Alexander was the first to grin as they looked at one another. John couldn't help but smile as well. 

"Okay," whispered John, blushing and sheepish as ever. 

Alexander began walking on with a laugh, suddenly all the more sad he couldn't hold John's hand as John brushed up beside him—friendly.

"My dad's always hated me," said John suddenly. "I'm sure."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I just am. He just... he acts like..." he shrugged. "Maybe I'm some kind of failure to him, and he knew it. He knew I would be. I was a stupid fat kid, and then I turned into..." he laughed, though he found nothing funny. "I turned into a stupid gay kid." Why did it feel so good to say it out loud? Yeah, he was putting himself down, but he never really said it before...

"Does he know, then?" asked Alexander.

"I don't know. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. It's still me. And he still hates it. And he hates everything else about what I've turned into. I think he preferred it when I was so fat I couldn't have friends, or fun."

"You say 'fat,' but I just can't picture—"

"No, Alex. Fat. I was obese. I had doctors tellin' me and shit, I had to get my shit together, I had to."

"You're not fat, now."

He nodded. "Yeah. My mom got diagnosed with cancer. So I started to..." he shrugged. "I didn't want her to die with her fat kid son in the room. It was so fucked. I started purging. I'd eat, but then I'd throw it back up. And after a while I just got so sick of puking that I'd starve myself. I ate nothing for months. I went jogging a lot to clear my head, 'cause it was the only time I could think—when I was running. I'd run sometimes for hours. I'd punish myself. Wouldn't bring water, and even though it was winter, it was still too warm to go without. I hated myself, Alex, I did. I was so miserable. But my mom never saw it. I told her... when she stopped coming home," he whispered, "when she had to stay in the hospital for longer, I'd visit... and I'd tell her it was all okay. I'd tell her I was doing great. She was so happy, to see me happy. That's all I wanted. So I kept doing it. And I got thinner and thinner, exercising 'til my body couldn't handle it anymore, for her. I wanted her to be happy." He sniffed and wiped at his eye. "And then she came home, for the last month or so. Well—in December of that year, they thought her cancer had gone into remission. But it came back, and it became untreatable. In late March, they knew it was just too bad... but they kept trying. That's when she was in the hospital. I was really skinny by then. And then she came home late April, died in May... May 22nd..."

They didn't speak for a while.

"Alex, I don't know why I'm telling you this. Maybe 'cause you get it. You listen. And I've never had anybody listen before. Everyone just tries to tell me how they think I should make it better, or how I'm wrong. But you just listen... and you don't... say I'm wrong. Or make jokes. I just want somebody to seriously... listen. I'm so tired of being ignored."

"I'm sorry, John," he said. He meant it. "I'm always... always here to listen."

"See? You're just," he sighed, "so good. I've never met anyone so good." He tried to smile. He didn't want to get into the rest of it, with going to Europe following his mother's death, or with Francis Kinloch and Martha Manning, or with anything else. He wanted it all to be gone, a needless part of his life. He didn't want to feel like he was reliving it, after all—so he wouldn't tell Alexander. ...Or maybe just not yet. Maybe someday.

"You're good, John. I like talking with you. All high an' shit... late at night... it's like, the ultimate... fun..."

"Let's stop for coffee before ice-cream," he said, pointing out a diner ahead. "I need caffeine."

He cracked another wide grin (had he stopped in the first place?). "I like you, John Laurens. I like coffee, and I like that you suggested it even more. You know, I bet you like it super sweet, though. Barely coffee at all. That's what y'all southern folk do, right? Like sweet iced tea. Sweet iced coffee."

"I... prefer it hot."

"I like mine iced, to be fair. Like ice-cream. But I like my tea hot, don't get me wrong. I won't drink iced tea. 'Specially not sweet iced tea."

"Well, I kind of like both. Sue me."

"I will!" He bumped into him playfully as they approached the lot of the diner. "I'm looking to go to law school, you know. Become a lawyer."

John held the door for him, then followed. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. I'm going to be the best damn attorney y'all's ever seen!"

John directed him to a booth. They sat across from one another. It wasn't that late, there were still plenty of customers, but the two sat in the back where fewer people were. They waited for the waitress.

"Yeah, I can see that. I bet you'd make a pretty damned good attorney. Why do you keep making fun of my accent?"

"It's just so cute," he teased. 

The waitress came over and handed them each menus, asking if they wanted some drinks to start off. Both ordered coffee.

"I'm starving," said Alexander. "I just want to eat everything on the menu."

"Yeah, Mary Jane'll do that to you."

"You want to stay and order food? Then go get ice-cream?" 

"You know, Alexander, they have a dessert menu here. We could just stay here."

"Great idea, my dear Watson!"

"I'm the sidekick?"

"Watson was no sidekick, he was a partner. Lighten up, ole' chap."

"Am I embarrassed to be seen with you in public? Yes. But do I regret it? Not at all."

Alexander laughed, extending his legs beneath the table so his feet may brush against John's.

• • •

Alexander and John returned to the house quiet and worn out from their adventure. They'd eaten too much, laughed too hard, and on the walk home in the woods, walked too closely together. All things of gluttony and greed, indulgence—all sins, but all forgivable as they mostly forgot the night anyway. It was fun, though. God was probably having fun watching them have fun. 

They first returned to the game room, where Laurens tossed his sweatshirt aside and leaned against the counter, ready for a nap. Or bed. Or death.

"Walk me home, soldier," whispered Alexander, tugging on his arm. 

John followed Alexander to his room aimlessly. It must have been around two, maybe three in the morning. Alexander went inside, kicked off his shoes and pulled off his sweatshirt, then dragged himself to his bed. John followed once again.

Alexander flopped down, telling John to rid himself of his own shoes. "We should finish that joint... just to knock us out, y'know."

John laid down beside him, rather close as it was a full-size bed and no more, and pulled out the unused joint in his pocket. He lit it up.

Alexander rested against him, head on his arm. He took maybe two hits before succumbing to his head eyelids. He never slept enough regularly, never was tired enough, took too many stimulants to be able to sleep... but boy, he was sleeping good, now. After a night of walking around, eating, talking, being high as fuck and having even more—he was more than ready for sleep.

And luckily for him, John was so darn cute, and he was even staying. 

He even put an arm around him, so as Alexander fell asleep, he felt extra safe. 

• • • 

John woke up with Alexander in his arms, delighted in the smell of his pillows and the feeling of warm sun on their bodies in the morning light. He felt refreshed.

And—oh my God, Alexander was so cute asleep. He remembered last night, and laid there as the memories all settled in his soul. Alexander was... here. And he was here. And he was like, 99% they had kissed.

He tried to reach up to peek at the alarm clock behind Alexander's head, but it caused him to stir.

Well, it was about 10 in the morning. Luckily it was Sunday, and because Henry Laurens was not here, there was no mandated attendance to church. 

Alexander looked up at him with a groggy smile. "Morning."

John felt happiness in its purest. "We slept in our clothes. We're so dumb."

Alexander laughed. He rest his head against John's chest.

"I wonder who's about."

"Yeah, but," said Alexander. "I don't. I just want to sleep in."

"Haven't we slept in plenty?"

He looked back up at him. "Hey. Lemme tell you a secret, buddy." He made a fist of John's shirt collar and pulled him near. "I don't care," he whispered.

John turned his head and pressed his forehead against Alexander's. Alexander began to giggle. He pecked John's lips a couple of times—until he felt oddly confrontational. He brushed the stubble on John's jaw, laying back down.

"So," said Alexander. "I'm... assuming we're not going to mention this to your dad."

John laughed, though made uncomfortable and anxious by that prospect. Wasn't it a little soon? Wasn't this a secret, after all? "'Hey, Dad,'" said he, jokingly, "'guess what? I kissed that guy you hired to guard me.'"

Alexander rolled his eyes. "He'd probably have an aneurism on the spot."

John grinned. He liked Alexander. He was funny. So, he kissed him on the cheek before he got up.

"Still wearing our clothes. I'm going to go shower."

Alexander nodded. "Yeah. Good idea. Hope nobody's lurking around out there," he joked. He watched John leave, then he himself went to shower.

When he stepped under the hot water, he began to smile. He let it run over his neck and through his curls (which, when drenched, were much longer, red in his eyes).

He didn't know what to think of it all. He'd never been in a gay relationship (though he certainly didn't think of John as an experiment of any sort) and especially hadn't been in this weird kind of limbo with a relationship. Girls, they always made it clear. If a girl wanted to date him, she would subtly make it known that she was interested in dating, and he would do the gentlemanly thing and ask her out. If she wasn't interested, she would hook up with him and book it, which he was also okay with.

He was okay with being the charmer—the sweet guy who could make girls smile and blush. 

But this was different. Very different. He didn't know how to navigate this. He couldn't just date John, though he liked him, because it was just different. He felt more obligated to keep it casual. 

John knocked on his door, and Alexander, wearing only a towel after his shower, was put into a strange situation. He considered modesty, as that was his initial response; but he liked John, so wouldn't it be weird to be modest? Should he make a move? Was it too soon, or was there even such a thing as 'too soon'? What the hell were social constructs?

He sighed as John knocked again, though lighter, hesitant.

"Just a minute!" called Alexander, as he rushed to pull on clothes. He answered the door in his underwear and shirt, choosing brevity over being fully clothed—but at least he was not naked.

"Oh," said John. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were in the shower."

Alexander peered out behind him. He didn't see anybody in the atrium. "No, it's fine, I just got out anyway. Man. I'm starving," he said. "We should find some brunch."

John nodded. "Okay."

• • •

Nothing else happened between them for the remainder of the week. Alexander distanced himself, however subconscious it was. He worried John just wasn't into him and so instead of pursuing him he'd rather pretend he was an emotionless void.

John thought Alexander might be scared, or most likely not into him. When his father returned, he begrudgingly went to dinner with the family. Alexander sat beside him.

"How were things on the home front, while I was gone?" asked Henry Laurens. He was cutting his chicken with care.

"Great," said John abruptly, though he did not sound too great.

"Really? That's good, then. Glad." He stuffed his face with chicken. There was a verbal silence as he chewed. Then, "How were your classes?"

"Mine were good," said Martha, bitter that her brother was obsessed over constantly. She was always coming in second. "I'm getting all A's, by the way, Dad. And I just had a hard test on stoichiometry that most people in my lab chem class failed. I aced it."

Henry Laurens nodded. "Very good."

She was ready to go on but the conversation was again distracted by her father's questioning of her older brother.

Alexander was even more distracted from the forced talk when he noticed the proximity of John's foot to his own. He was sure it was purely an accident, but he couldn't resist teasing his foot back. After crossing his own legs to get a better angle, he let his sneaker brush the side of John's clothed calf. He leaned on the table. 

John caught wind of what was going on and awkwardly forced an answer to Henry Laurens' question. "I wouldn't say that," in response to the inquiry of if he'd gone out at all, "just that I—Well, Alexander and I got some food up at the diner, Belle's, but besides that we didn't... go out." He tried being focused on the questions but Alexander was still rubbing his leg. What the fuck. 

"Ah. When was this?"

"Saturday night."

"Then I take it that you didn't attend church Sunday morning."

Knowing that his father likely checked in with the nanny, he said, "No, Sir. But I had a lot of homework—" he cleared his throat, feeling his voice become smaller as Alexander tapped the side of his leg with his limp hand under the table. He dropped his own hand and pushed Alexander's aside for a moment before internally sighing and deciding to link their fingers together. 

Henry Laurens took his falter as admission to grill him further. "But you could have done that homework in the hours you were out, and not missed church the next morning."

John closed his eyes for a moment, stressed. He felt Alexander squeeze his hand. "I guess I could have."

"Now, Jack, why aren't you eating?" his father asked.

John realized Alexander was holding his right hand, the hand he usually ate with, and so to curb any sort of suspicion he shook Alexander's hand away and picked up his fork. Alexander looked down to his plate with a sigh.

"If I may ask, Alexander, how are your classes going?"

Martha rolled her eyes. Seriously? He cared more about the random college-aged adult who was staying with them than his own eldest daughter?

"They're going great," said Alexander. "It's very welcoming, attending a Christian university," he fibbed, "I believe I enjoy it more than I would attending a secular school."

Henry Laurens chuckled, smiling. "That's good. I'm very glad."

"I'm glad I've had this opportunity, Sir. Thank you."

• • •

"You're a convincing actor," began John, as Alexander closed the door to the game room. 

Alexander half-nodded as he stepped forward. He grabbed the collar of John's dark blue button-up, the top two buttons of which was popped, and landed a kiss on his lips. 

John sighed through his nose heavily. Boy, did it feel nice. And it felt nicer to know that between this and the dinner, Alexander was still interested. That week of awkwardness, sans touching, sans contact—it meant nothing. Just that they were both shy, at least. Just unsure of it.

This was dangerous, thought he, as Alexander sandwiched his cheeks between his hands, pulling his face even closer as they kissed. This was uncharted territory at the least. Alexander would be staying for the next four years, minimum. They were under the same roof as John's father and siblings, in South Carolina, no less. They were attending a Christian university and attended church on Sundays. John was unsure if he'd be able to stand the guilt. He was unsure if he could hide this secret.

But there were always undetermined variables in life. He was so tired of feeling used and lonely. He was already disregarding his father's wishes by drug and alcohol usage, not to mention dissent. He was a heretic. He was ungodly enough by kissing Alexander and wanting him, so why stop? There was no hierarchy to the sin, was there? 

Was there?

"John," whispered Alexander, brushing his lips against his jaw. He enjoyed the scratchy texture. "You good?"

John decided against answering. He kissed him again, harder than before, more insistent. Alexander relaxed into the kiss. 

"Mm, okay— so I take that as a—"

"Yes," finished John. He felt his blood rush. 

Alexander had his arms around his neck, pushing him, forcing him to falter his steps backward and backward until he fell back onto the couch. Alexander grinned at John's disheveled state on the furniture and took the initiative to loom over him, teasing the idea of getting atop him—until John sanctioned it, having reached for him; so Alexander sat over him. He kissed him again.

It was so thrilling. 

"This is so fun," whispered John, breaking the kiss. Alexander fumbled to pull open the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest. 

"God, John, you're so hot," he mumbled.

John certainly felt hot, thermally. His cheeks were burning up. Alexander made him feel like he was on display. 

Alexander touched his chest, grinning at how his fingertips felt when grazing the hair. He'd never really done that before. He never thought about how attractive it was, but by God, it was attractive.

John touched the back of his neck and urged him to bring his mouth near. Alexander redirected his mouth to John's neck.

He wanted to do so much. He was so excited, he didn't know where to start. He wanted to touch every last centimeter of John's body. It was so new. It was so hot. He thought he was going to smile forever.

John felt so observed, yet so tended to, and it was so nice. He didn't know that this was what it felt like to be nurtured. He didn't know what to do, he was so nervous, and he didn't know where this would lead, but he figured that (though he wanted to touch Alexander oh so bad) he would stay reclined and allow Alexander to explore him. He liked being looked after.

A part of him was nervous because Alexander was always monitoring him, always there. He was worried he was being looked at too closely; whether that worry be because he was self-conscience about himself and his appearance and if he was good enough, skinny enough, attractive enough, suave enough—or because he'd been closely observed and judged his whole life and he was tired of being judged.

He was so tired of being judged. 

But Alexander wasn't judging him. He was having a field day touching and looking at him.

John grabbed his thighs. He really liked the feeling of Alexander rocking against him.

"Alex," he whispered.

Alexander, who had by now pressed his stomach against John's lower half and had his chin resting on his chest, looked up with a grin. 

Boy, did he look like a kid on Christmas.

"This couch is so uncomfortable," John said.

Alexander laughed. "Well. Not for me, it isn't." He nuzzled John's chest. "You want to go to a room, then? Mine or yours?" He rocked forward, pulling himself closer. "Your dad's probably still up... my room's farther from his than yours is."

John bit his lip. Oh, my God. They were doing this.

"That is, if you want to. If that's what you were saying. If you were just saying you wanted me off, I get it," he said lamely, sitting up. His hands felt limp. He forced a smile.

"No," whispered John faintly at first. He cleared his throat, sitting up as well, helping Alexander resettle facing him. "No, I— I do. That's what I was trying... to..." 

Alexander was in his lap. He tried to relax his shoulders.

"Okay." It was silent. "Hey, you want— do you just wanna get high or something? I've never done this and I don't know if you have, but it kinda would chill us—"

"No, I don't." He looked down. "I wanna be sober."

Alexander nodded. "Kay. Good. Cool. So..." He forced a laugh. "Cool."

John hesitantly touched the side of his face, an action Alexander gratefully relaxed into. John whispered, "I should probably button my shirt before we, like, sneak through the house. They're probably still cleaning up from dinner."

"Oh, yeah. Probably. We can just sit here a while and wait it out, 'till they, uh, dissipate."

John felt his lips pick up. "Yes."

Alexander rocked forward once again, stroking his stubble longingly. He kissed the opposite side of John's face.

John touched his back, still hesitant, but finding comfort in his arms resting there as they sat, kissing and (majorly, Alexander was) touching. 

• • •

Alexander led the way to his room when the house seemed still. He was pleased by John's grabbing of his wrist when they closed the door behind him, then how he slipped it down to his hand. He laced their fingers. They'd been kissing for an hour, talking, whispering, touching, but Alexander was itching for more. He pulled himself against John, who was also tired of waiting.

John Laurens was a rebellious young man, in his father's eyes. He had a track record of getting into reckless trouble for the hell of it. He acted on a whim.

This was one of those whims. 

He didn't know what could possibly be overtaking him. After all, he'd spent so long afraid and in the closet, and was still afraid of being hurt. He worried Alexander might not like him, that he would hate his body or leave him. He worried he might be like Kinloch, mean and flaky, full of himself. He worried he might be lied to and hurt again. He was afraid of losing everything. But his blood was pumping through his veins and he didn't know what it was, just that he was so ready. He wanted Alexander, bad. He needed this.

It was the ultimate mutiny to his father's ancient grudge. He needed to revolt. He needed to feel euphoria.

So he broke from Alexander's face to grin at him, then reach behind his head to shut the light off. Alexander squeezed his hands, walked backwards and pulled John toward the bed. John haltingly squeezed his shoulders. 

"Don't take your hands off me, John," Alexander whispered reassuringly. "Don't be nervous. I want you to."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I want you to want me.

John pushed him down to the bed. Something had taken over him—yet he felt most like himself.

Maybe a curtain of black smoke had been lifted from his soul. 

He was himself!

Although he was in his childhood home, the place he'd experienced the most trauma, from which his pain derived—from whom—he was able to be a different, better person. Alexander transformed him.

He kissed Alexander on the cheek. Alexander recoiled with a soft laugh, turning his head. He escaped from his grip and sat up on his knees, facing John on the bed.

John began to tug on Alexander's clothing. Alexander enthusiastically followed, and they worked together to strip. John hesitated in taking off his own clothes, but Alexander seemed very into it (and it was dark, too) so he felt better.

Alexander pulled away to blindly reach for a condom and lube, which he conveniently had in his dresser drawer for secret reasons. 

John pulled him by his thighs forward, closer, beneath him. He loved seeing Alexander beneath him. As he fumbled with the condom, Alexander pushed his briefs down. He spread his legs, eagerly pushing against John's knee.

When he'd got the condom on, he opened the lube.

"John. What's wrong?" said Alexander softly. He noticed John's hesitation.

"I... what do you...?"

Alexander wanted to laugh. He sat up slightly, pressed harder against his knee, and grabbing at his thigh. "C'mon... I want you to fuck me."

John nodded. He leaned forward to peck at Alexander's face before lathering his fingers and member in lube. He rubbed Alexander's hole, eager. He'd been waiting for this for too long. He was aching. He could tell his partner was, too.

He pulled out his fingers and began to push his cock into the young man beneath him. He held onto his waist and his other hand beside his head on the bed.

They were quick and needy. Alexander grasped his arms, then released one hand to slap it on the bed, tugging at the sheet. He felt like he was losing his mind. He put his hand over his own cock before John removed the hand from his waist to take over jerking him off.

Alexander groaned, twisting and twitching. He loved it. He tipped his head back and nearly whimpered. 

John felt so heavy. His grip was tight as he pleasured Alexander, who writhed and convulsed as he came. He fell over him, arms around him.

He kept pumping into him, sloppier.

"John—" Alexander strained. His face was pressed against John's neck and collarbone. He was done, but still moved with him, loving it. "Mmh—"

John's tips stuttered as he came, pushed deep inside him. Alexander's thighs felt numb. He held onto John, who was holding onto him, tighter. 

He rolled off of him. Alexander panted for a moment, trying to regain himself in the dark. He began to grin.

John pulled off the condom and disposed of it. He grabbed a towel from Alexander's bathroom and cleaned the both of them up. He tossed it to the floor before being summoned back to bed.

He laid down.

Alexander put an arm over his chest. John pulled the covers over them. 

Alexander touched him. His chest, mostly, and stomach and thighs, and also his arms—all of which made John self conscious. But Alexander whispered about how much he was enjoying it. 

Alexander closed his eyes. His hands slowed, until he was just twirling his finger around John's chest.

John felt able to relax. He had his arms wrapped around Alexander, now feeling his body, keeping it close and protected. He loved its smoothness and gentle tones. Alexander was so petite. He enjoyed it to bits.

"That was good," murmured Alexander.

John nodded, rubbing him. "We should do it again sometime."

"Oh, you're always joking." He scratched John's chest. "So.. freaking hot."

John grinned.

• • •

The morning was a bit awkward, waking up naked in the light of daytime. 

Alexander looked at John's back, as he'd turned on his side to sleep. After a moment of laying there and staring, he silently left the bed to shower and dress. He'd successfully gotten even his belt on by the time John began to stir. 

He grinned as John turned onto his back, squinting at the sunlight. 

"Morning, sleepy head," said Alexander. "You want your clothes?"

John sat up, remembering he was naked as the day he was born. "Yeah."

"Too bad I'm holding them hostage." He flopped down beside John. "Poor you."

"Hey, you're dressed."

"So observant." He kissed John on the cheek before getting up again to collect his clothes from the pile he'd made on the floor. He threw them at him. "Here."

John mumbled a thanks before trying to be modest as he dressed. But Alexander didn't care about modesty and remarked something teasing and inappropriate, unsurprisingly. 

John pecked his forehead. 

"Oí. You gotta go get dressed for real, we have class in an hour."

John whispered a curse and headed out the door.

Martha had her backpack on and was walking through the atrium when he exited, and she raised a brow at him. "Um. Aren't those the same clothes you had on yesterday?"

"No."

She didn't believe him.

He quickly ran upstairs to get dressed.

• • •

Alexander was trying his best not to smile too much, for fear it was suspicious, but he just couldn't help it sometimes. He and John walked around campus between classes, side by side.

He was loving it.

And every day, it felt like they were getting closer. At least more comfortable. They laughed more. They had more fun.

John was the happiest he'd ever been when he was with Alexander—his body guard. The thought made him laugh.

So much had happened in a year. It was nearing the end of summer, and Alexander was unsure he wanted to continue attending the university.

Not because he wasn't head over heels for John, or because he didn't enjoy John's family, but because he just couldn't stand the bullshit of the people and the classes. It was making him angrier than it should—but he knew he had to stick it out.

Besides, how bad could it be? He didn't have to work, he had a roof over his head, and he had John.

"Why the long face, chum?" said John, as they sat on a rocky cliff over the lake. He had just a can of Coca-Cola, rather than beer. 

Alexander sighed. He looked up at the clouds. It was such a beautiful day, it was hot and wonderful. They weren't far from the house, maybe a couple miles (which they had to walk) but it wasn't bad, despite the heat.

"Hey," John said again, bumping his shoulder. "You okay?"

Alexander nodded. "Yep. I'm fine."

John took a sip of his coke. "I know when you're lying, Alex."

Caught in his fib, Alexander said, "I just hate the world."

"That makes two of us."

"Yeah, well... I just wish we were anywhere but here."

"You aren't having fun in the scorching humidity?"

"This is great," he specified. "I mean in general. Living surrounded by bigots. It kinda kills the spirit. Sucks the 'life' out of living. I want to go somewhere else." He sighed. "Someday. I just want to be somewhere we aren't hated, or scared."

John understood. He put his hand over Alexander's. "Yeah."

"Even if we don't— if we don't stay—" he was fumbling over his words. "You know what I mean. If we're not together, we should both still promise to move somewhere besides here. Like, New York or something, or California. Maybe it's not perfect, but it's a hell of a lot better than here."

John fell silent at that for a moment. He didn't want to think of that possibility. 

Alexander felt John's hand go limp, so he turned his over and squeezed. "I mean, 'if'. It's not something either of us want to think about, clearly, but I just wanted you to know that. Because that's what I'm planning on doing, and I care about you; so you should do the same. Move somewhere gay-friendly, or maybe visit at least. I want you to be as happy as you deserve."

John thought for a second before smiling. "I'm happy with you, no matter where we are."

"So cheesy!" He laughed. "Yeah. But I mean, you know. Maybe we should go somewhere else after graduation."

"Hey. I'll stick around for your last year, since I'm a year ahead."

"So kind."

"I'm only nice to you."

"Oh, come on. That's not true. You're annoyingly nice to everyone, 'cept for when you're mad, but that's different. You care about people. I think it's sweet."

John shoved his arm. "Stoppp."

"You're a real sweetheart, John, you really are."

"I'll push you into the lake, then you'll think I'm real' sweet."

On an impulse, before John saw it coming, Alexander shoved John into the lake. "You know what, a swim does sound quite nice!" he shouted down to him.

John was taken aback. The fall was not far, but he was not ready and still had his shirt on. He swam to the land and ran to go back up the cliff.

Alexander anticipated being pushed (as John clearly had come for revenge) so he tore off his shirt, sneakers and had only just barely taken off his shorts, as John had caught up to him. He jumped off the cliff, laughing as he went.

John stripped to his underwear as well, laid out his clothes on the rock in the sun so they'd dry, and jumped after Alexander.

Alexander swam to him and splashed him. John splashed back, before being attacked by the former who was trying to wrestle him in the water. To fend Alexander off his shoulders, he grabbed at his waist and shoved him back into the water. They continued wrestling for another moment, splashing and grabbing.

Alexander pushed away and swam backwards. John went after him. He backed him into the shore, then grabbed him by his middle and faux dragged him back up the cliff. 

"No, no, I'm sorry!" laughed Alexander, hysterically trying to push away. John had him over the ledge. "Nooo! John, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry for what?" teased John.

"I'm sorry for pushing you! Release me!" He latched onto John's shoulders as his feet slipped over. He was hoping to pull John in with him, if he was going down anyway. "I'm sorry!"

John laughed. "'Sorry' doesn't cut it." He released his grip on Alexander, pushing him forward, but subsequently fell, quite literally, in line with Alexander's plan to pull him to the water.

He splashed him again.

"I can't believe you threw me off a cliff!" shouted Alexander. He splashed John. "Bad John!" He splashed him again. 

John stopped splashing to shield himself. "You pushed me first!"

"Hey! That's unimportant."

"What!"

He splashed him once again.

"Why're you so mean?"

Alexander laughed and stopped splashing so he could swim toward John. "I'm sorryyy."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm extra sorry."

John pretended to give him the cold shoulder.

"Oh, John, how can you ever forgive me?"

John splashed him.

"That felt like revenge," said Alexander, wiping his face. He dove under the water and flipped his head back up to get his hair out of his eyes. He got closer to John. "Truce? Come on."

"I'll forgive you."

"You will, or you do?"

"I will," he hummed. "Eventually, I suppose. But you have to atone."

"And how, pray tell, do I atone for my sin of pushing you into the water?"

"I don't know. You'll have to figure it out."

"Oh, come on. I hate the guessing game," he groaned as he swam around. He continued swimming circles around John for a while until he had an idea. He neared the shore. "Race you up the cliff?"

John swam to catch up to him, and chase him up the cliff, falling for his bait. Alexander won, of course, having had a head start and being a fast little fucker, but he did not jump, as John expected. He did, however, grab John's arm so he wouldn't jump, either. They were at a comfortable distance from the edge, so John didn't worry about being pushed again.

"What?" said he.

Alexander grinned. "John. Johnny boy. J-Man. Hey."

"Hi, Alex."

"You know, we've been sleeping together a while now and you never asked me to be your boyfriend. I think you should be atoning, that's way worse than pushing you. It's un-gentlemanly, in fact."

John was caught very off guard but he laughed anyway. "You want to date me?"

"We're pretty much there already. I just figured, like, you know. It'd be nice."

"I mean," he shrugged, feigning disregard, "I guess, if I have to." 

He grinned and socked John's arm. "You jerk."

John smiled too, bashful for some reason. Nothing had really changed. Just that he now had an official boyfriend, instead of hanging out with Alexander and hooking up with him like friends with benefits or something. "Is this your idea of atoning?"

"Asking you out? Nah. But I thought it would soften your attitude a little."

John laughed. "And you had to race me up here, first? Couldn't have asked me out in the water?"

"Nope."

"And you didn't even ask me out, I mean, you really just complained about me not asking you out and asked me to ask you."

"Yup."

"And now you're pretending this was your plan all along, but I think it was a spur of the moment decision, and you didn't know how to make it romantic."

Alexander put his hands up. "You got me." He took John's hand. "But I did have a reason for racing you up here."

"What's that?"

He leaned in almost like he was going to kiss him, but he instead shoved him over the edge into the water, promptly jumping in after him. When John bobbed back up to the surface, he cursed and complained about falling for it again. 

"I'm regretting my decision to ask you out."

Alexander swam to him. "Oh, come on. You know you don't. Besides," he said, "kissing in the water sounds kinda hot."

"You're the worst."

He grinned. "And you're the best."


End file.
